The Effective Cause
by chibiness87
Summary: She doesn't deserve to be here. Episode tag for 2.21: 1969.


**The effective cause**, by **chibiness87**  
**Rating**: G…ish.  
**Spoilers**: 2.21 1969  
**Pairing**: S/J (if you really, really squint)  
**Disclaimer**: not mine.

**Summary**: She doesn't deserve to be here.

He finds her on the mountain side, facing towards the sunset. Hunched over, arms wrapped around herself, she is the very picture of misery immersed in pain. He's positive she hasn't missed his approach; he's hardly been subtle and she's excellent in the field. Standing behind her, he watches for a long moment, before deciding man up already. "Hey."

She doesn't even turn around at his soft greeting, further proof to him she has been well aware of his approach. Which means whatever is going on with her, it has nothing to do with him. He hopes.

"Hi, sir."

Well. At least she's talking, even if it is so soft he has to strain to hear it. Taking it as permission, he steps closer, smiling to himself when she doesn't leap to any kind of attention at his approach, but shuffles over slightly on her rocky outcrop of a perch to make room. Following the obvious invitation, he eases himself down next to her. Studying her form for a moment, he looks out towards the horizon where the sun is making its last feeble effort to light the sky. Nodding towards it, he asks, "Trying to predict the next solar flare?"

Normally this would get him some form of amusement from her. Maybe a lecture about how solar flares are impossible to predict. But this time, she just shrugs.

"I got a job offer."

The non-sequitur makes him pause. "Oh?"

"From Area 51."

He's very careful not to look at her. Instead, he glances down at his hands, forcing them not to flinch or clench into fists. "Do you…"

He doesn't know how to finish the question. Want to take it? Want to leave the program? Want to pretend it never happened?

She shrugs again, making worry begin to form a knot in his gut. "I don't know."

He feels something dark rise up in him. A tightening in his chest. Panic and fear and rage and something else, something he dare not name. Something primal.

Floundering, he picks the first excuse that comes to him. "Maybourne's there." The disgust in his voice, the venom he displays gives more away than he's willing to admit to. He can't lose her to Maybourne. He _can't_.

But all she does is nod. "I know." Like it's okay to… what? Want to go and work for the guy?

He turns to her, disbelief and something more, something more like hurt, makes him turn to face her, even as she still doesn't look at him. Hands nearly shaking with restraint, he gasps, "So why…"

"Because it would be my choice."

Of all the things he thought she would say, this doesn't even make the top 100. He gawps at her for a good solid minute, unable to follow her logic. Which, granted, isn't exactly a new sensation when it comes to her, but that's normally because she's off spouting some science tech that only about 1% of the population understands. In the end, it's all he can do to parrot back to her. "Your choice."

"Yes."

"I'm…" He frowns. "I'm not sure I follow you."

"You never wanted me on the team."

She does look at him then, a look so full of sorrow it makes him want to catch his breath. "Carter." He reaches for her, but she pulls away, and he lets his hands up in the universal sign of surrender.

Shaking her head, she sighs softly. "No. You only did it because Hammond ordered me." And then she fixes him with a stare demanding him to try to protest what she honestly believes as truth. "Don't deny it. I was there. I heard him."

"And I'm glad he did." The words fly out without permission, without thought, loud and quick and raw, and the truth of them shocks them both.

More timidly now, the anger gone from her tone to be replaced with honest to god bewilderment, she asks, "You… you are?"

"Carter." He sighs, shakes his head. Gives her an imploring look. "Sam. C'mon."

"Right."

Silence falls, the last rays of the sun disappearing from the horizon. He can feel the chill of the evening beginning to creep in, and while he knows they could both leave at this point, pretend this conversation never happened, something makes him continue. So instead of leading her back to the lighter, not to mention warmer, interior of the base, he places a gentle hand on her arm, holding her in place. "But that's not what this is about," he raises his head, catches her eyes now the sun isn't there, "is it?"

"Sir?"

Her eyes widen, her tongue flashes across her lower lip, and he has to look away. To remind them both why they're sat freezing their sixes off on a mountain top. "You mentioned a choice."

She turns back to the horizon, a shiver running over her arms. Idly, he wishes he had thought to bring a coat up, or a blanket, but then he wasn't expecting them to be out here so long. After a long moment, she asks quietly, "Do you… do you think there's such a thing as free choice?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but she stops the glib comment on the tip of his tongue with a small shake of her head. "And not just about toothpaste brands, or… or cake flavours. I'm talking about true freedom."

He swallows. Pauses. Takes a moment to look her over, trying to read her and failing. "Yeah. Of course. It's one of the things we're fighting for, isn't it?"

She shrugs.

He sighs. Patience fighting with concern. "What's this about, Sam? Really?"

Her hands fall into her lap, one hand idly playing with the bandages on the palm of the other. He follows her movement with his eyes for a moment, before his own hand comes to rest on hers, stilling them. Staring at their combined hands, she sighs. "On our last mission, Hammond gave me a note before we went through the gate and ended up in '69. He said it was because he knew to give it to me because of my hand."

He nods, following her so far. "Yeah."

She pulls her hand free of his. He tries hard not to feel bereft. "He only did that because he knew I had it before." She waves the injured appendage in the air. "Back then."

He's not sure he quite likes where this conversation is headed. "Carter…"

But she shakes her head. "He assigned me to SG-1 because he knew I was there, colonel. He made it an order because he knew it was the only way you couldn't leave me out of it." She's crying, he realises suddenly, tears falling silently now the darkness is there to hide them. But the anguish in her tone gives them away. "All this time I thought… but it was never about me or my ability."

"So… what?" Dread fills him. "What are you saying?"

She shrugs again, a helpless gesture that makes him want to reach up and hold her tight and never let her go. "I don't know. I just… I thought I was given this because I'd earnt it."

"You _have_." He just doesn't know how to tell her. He doesn't have the words. He'd laugh at the irony if it wasn't all so desperate.

"But did I? Back then? Or was it just another tick in a box?" He places it, finally. The tone he's been missing. A plea for understanding. For assurance. The smartest person he has ever met in the world, hell, the galaxy, and she wants to know that she has the right to be here.

"You earnt it. You… Hell, Carter, you've more than earnt it." And then, because she was right the day the met and he still hasn't owned up to that, he adds, "You were right, you should have gone through the gate on the first mission."

God knows how that would have affected the outcome, and he's glad she didn't meet him when he was quite so… suicidal, but on merit of hard work and skill and knowledge? Yes. She should have been there.

"Do you honestly believe that, or are you just trying to make me feel better?"

He groans, wishing for once she was actually privy to his thoughts. Would make not having to say them aloud much easier. "Carter…"

"I got a job offer."

She is going to give him whiplash one of these days. Biting back an oath, he nods. "You said."

"Do you want me to take it?"

That brings his head up quick, eyes flashing. A hint of anger in his tone, he growls, "Why the hell would I want you to do that?"

"Sir?"

He huffs a sigh. Wonders how someone so smart could be so incredibly stupid. Because doesn't she get it? At her continued confused expression, he shakes his head. "Look. Ignore the why. Just for a moment. And forget about me and Danny and Teal'c. Forget about everything else. Do _you_ want to take it?"

"Sir…"

"No. right now. Here. Do you want to leave?" _Do you want to leave __**me**_ is what he wants to say, and has to bite it back down with a curse.

"No."

"So _don't_."

She's biting her lip again. He can tell by her hesitation, even in the dark. "But if I stay…"

He shrugs. Like her decision doesn't matter to him. Like he isn't hanging on to it with the last bated breath in his body. "Then you've made that choice."

"Yeah."

"Stay, Carter." And then, because he can't help it, because the thought of not seeing her every day is sending him into a tailspin, and god, when, when did this happen, he adds (begs) "Please."

"You want me to stay?"

He nods. Wonders if she can see it in the gloom. Wonders what else she can see. "I want you to stay."

"Okay." He can hear the smile in her voice, soft and small, and he feels the band around his chest ease. Pushes the emotional response down with a firm fist. That'll be something to deal with on another day.

"Okay." He smiles back. Together they make their way back down towards the entrance, only now beginning to feel the chill of the evening.

Standing next to her in the descending elevator, he feels a shiver work its way over his bare arms. "Hey, Carter?"

"Sir?"

"The next time you decide to have a crisis of confidence, let's do it somewhere warm, yeah?"

The doors open before she can answer, and he steps out quickly lest she sees the smirk he knows is dancing at the corner of his mouth.

He's almost out of earshot when he hears her soft "Yes, sir," in reply.

He smiles, feeling everything settle back into place.

Carter transfer to Area 51? Over his dead body.


End file.
